After we finished eating the chicken, and the pie had cooled down a bit, I suggested that we take the pie over to Haymitch's house.
Peeta was a little reluctant at first, making numerous excuses for why we shouldn't go. But when I asserted I would be going regardless of whether or not he came along, he finally agreed to accompany me.
Though I couldn't explain this in the kitchen considering the number of cameras watching us, my reasons for going to Haymitch's house weren't entirely arbitrary.
It had been over a week since Haymitch revealed to me that the wine cellar in his basement was completely void of any cameras, and it was time for Peeta to know as well.
He had shown me the safe haven he had built under his mother's home, a place where we could talk without the threat of being overheard by the Capitol, so I wanted to return the favor. I wanted him to know that we had a second option if we ever wished to talk freely, away from the prying eye of the cameras that infested our home.
But most of all, I wanted to let Haymitch know about the plan we created, so that he could weigh in on whether or not he thought it was a good idea.
So after the clock struck half past eight, I dragged Peeta across the Victor's Village, under the pretense of sharing my first homemade apple pie with our drunken neighbor.
I rang the doorbell to his mansion, just as soon as we had reached the door. Together we waited in the dark, eager to hear a noise somewhat reminiscent of life-like movement from inside the cold, dreary manor.
"Are you sure we should be out here?" Peeta asked me. "He's probably passed out drunk on the floor."
"He'll get up," I insisted resolutely.
"I don't want to bother him," he replied considerately.
"I don't mind," I asserted.
He averted his gaze downward and kicked at nearby rock, so I suppose he did mind.
After that, he appeared to grow somewhat impatient, rocking back and forth on his heels, and shifting his hands in his pockets.
"It's getting cold," he remarked suddenly. "Maybe we should head back inside."
"What's your problem with Haymitch?" I blurted out suddenly.
Peeta looked up at me, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't.
"I just—" he stopped in hesitation. He looked up tentatively at the camera perched above the entryway and then looked back down at the ground.
"I just don't trust him, okay," he whispered quickly, in the most vague manner possible.
I stared at him questioningly for a moment.
When I realized I wasn't going to get an answer beyond that, I turned and rang the doorbell again, more forcefully this time.
I heard the faint sound of the doorbell blaring from the inside, and after a momentary silence it was followed by the distant sound of feet slugging noisily against the ground.
A short while after, the door was opened by a very inebriated man with a wild beard and an overall disheveled appearance.
"Hi, Haymitch," I began, forcing a tinge of optimism into my voice.
"What are you doing here? " he growled back.
"It's nice to see you too, Haymitch," Peeta replied dryly.
He scoffed. "It's never a good sign when I see the likes of you two at my door."
I could tell by the way he held onto the door for support that he had been drinking.
"We brought you some pie," I said trying again.
"I'm not in the mood for pie," he answered back harshly.
"Oh, come on, its Katniss' first time baking one. Just let us in."
Peeta's remark caught him off guard and he stared at him menacingly for a moment or two.
Then he slowly shifted his feet and trudged back inside his house, leaving the door swinging open behind him.
I took that as a signal of invitation, so I stepped inside the house, with Peeta following in after me.
I placed the pie on the table where Haymitch stood with a bottle of liquor already at hand.
"What do you two want from me? Huh?" he slurred angrily. "Haven't I already done enough for you?"
"Just sit down and have a slice of pie with us," Peeta proposed as he found a cutting knife in the kitchen and brought it to the table along with a set of clean plates.
Haymitch plopped down angrily into the chair in front of him.
"Alright," he said grudgingly. "I'll have a slice."
I stood at the table trying to assess whether or not Haymitch was in any condition to give us advice. Finally I decided it was worth giving a try.
"I think a slice of pie would go well with a glass of wine," I hinted at the drunken man sitting in front of me.
Peeta automatically looked at me, his blue eyes widening with surprise.
Fortunately Haymitch seemed to catch my drift, and he turned to look at me with a wild expression on his face.
"I like the way you think," he said with a grin. "Follow me, sweetheart."
He got out of his chair and led the way to his basement.
I looked at Peeta and saw he had a bewildered expression on his face.
"Come with me," I offered.
This only seemed to make him even more confused as he tried to understand why three people needed to go downstairs to fetch one bottle of wine.
"Please," I insisted, gently placing my fingers over his.
Peeta automatically looked down to where my hand held his. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, with a contemplative look on his face. Finally, he returned the gesture, clasping his fingers tightly around mine.
"Sure," he said turning up to face me again. With his hand securely positioned in mine, I guided him towards the basement door, following the sound of Haymitch's drunken movements down into the secluded wine cellar.
Once we reached the bottom, we were instantly assaulted by the strong scent of alcohol filling up the room.
Just as I remembered from my previous visit, there were rows of wine and liquor bottles stacked up against the walls, and shards of broken glass littered all across the dirty, unkempt floors. I saw a mouse skitter noisily across one side of the sticky, damp floors.
"So what do you two want?" Haymitched barked as he stood by the wine racks.
"What brands do you have?" Peeta asked.
Haymitch scoffed. "You didn't tell the boy about this room, did you?"
"There are no cameras in here, Peeta," I explained.
"There aren't?" he asked.
"No," I stated.
"And no one can hear us from upstairs?"
I shook my head.
"If you have anything to tell me, just spit it out already," Haymitch snapped. "I haven't got all day."
"We have an idea," I began. "About how to get around Snow's demands, without getting into trouble."
"I'm listening," he prodded.
"Why don't you tell him," I said gently nudging Peeta. "It was your idea."
Peeta looked at me in hesitation. I suppose he really didn't trust Haymitch enough to tell him. But in the end he conceded.
"We think that if we make Snow believe that Katniss is pregnant," he explained. "Then he won't target our families for the Quarter Quell. And it'll buy us enough time to think of a plan."
"And how are you going to get him to do that? There are eight more months until the Quarter Quell. He'll be expecting her to swell up by the end of it."
"I know about these pills from the Capitol. If she takes them once a week, it'll make the pregnancy believable."
Haymitch took a moment while he ruminated over the idea.
"I like it," he finally said.
"Really?" Peeta said making sure Haymitch wasn't being sarcastic.
"In fact, I love the idea of making the public believe she's pregnant," he confirmed with a wild laugh. "The crowds will eat it up."
"That's what I was thinking," Peeta agreed. "Snow won't be able to attack us, if we have the public's support."
"Well, look at you, Mellark," Haymitch slurred sarcastically, as he poured himself a glass of brown liquor. "You've finally managed to think of a plan that isn't purely idiotic."
Peeta scoffed at his remark. "Well, it's not like you've been doing anything to get us out of this mess."
"There's nothing I can do," Haymitch replied harshly. "There's nothing any of us can do. Everything changed the moment you took those berries into your hands. There's no going back now."
Peeta stopped to think about the gravity of his words. Haymitch was right. There was no going back now. Nothing would ever be the same again.
After a moment's pause Peeta spoke up again.
"We'll announce it at the next public event—the talent show."
"No," Haymitch interjected gruffly. "You'll announce it when I tell you to."
"We have to make the announcement as soon as possible. Or else Snow will start making preparations for the Quarter Quell."
And our relatives' names will be put up for slaughter.
"They won't announce the rules for the Quarter Quell until four months before the Games begin," he informed us. "We have time."
Peeta stole a quick glance at me. I could tell he was just as hesitant about taking Haymitch's advice as I was. I wanted to do something to ensure Prim's survival as soon as I could. But I had to trust Haymitch. He did get us out of the games.
I gave Peeta's hand a small squeeze to let him know I was willing to go along with Haymitch's plan.
"Alright," Peeta conceded turning up to look at Haymitch who had already resumed his drinking activities. "But what do we do until then?"
"Just worry about making district twelve look good at the talent show," he slurred back. "Leave everything else to me."
He picked out a bottle of wine from the rack, and walked up to where we stood.
"Now why don't we go upstairs and try that pie of yours, sweetheart," he said, handing me the bottle of wine.